My Nemesis
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: Flowers and now an old army friend, just what strange occurrences are happening in the 221b household?


**My Nemesis**

Summary: Flowers and now an old army friend, just what strange occurrences are happening in the 221b household? Oneshot! It's been so long since I've done one of these. Enjoy! B x  
Pairing: None as such, Johnlock and Moranarty (is that the word? If not then it is now) if you squint a little  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Based on the song 'My nemesis' from Phineas and Ferb

* * *

John wondered what the hell was going on when he picked up the bouquet of roses which someone had kindly left on the step. With the flowers in hand, he ascended back up to his flat.

"Sherlock!" The doctor called. A mop of dark hair appeared round the door. "Someone's left these for you." Calculating eyes glanced at the bouquet and sighed. John chuckled.  
"Someone's got an admirer." John chimed, earning himself a glare. Before the detective could reply, he was interrupted by a short, sharp knock on the door. The soldier raised an eyebrow as Mrs Hudson bustled in with a tall, broad shouldered male in her wake. He didn't look very happy to be here.

Sherlock's interest seemed to finally be piqued as he emerged fully from his bedroom, wrapped only in a bed sheet. The visitor took one look at him and groaned.  
"What?" Sherlock asked. John raised a hand to quieten him.  
"Moran, what are you doing here? I haven't seen you since… well, Afghanistan. How did you find me?" John asked. His army mate scratched the back of his head sheepishly  
"Yes, uh, hmm." He coughed a bit. "I got a new boss back in London. A complete crack pot. Anyway, he's been really happy as of late and it's rather starting to worry me so I decided I'd pay an old friend a visit, get out of his hair for a bit." Moran answered. John nodded.  
"So what was the groan for?" He pressed. Sherlock thwacked his head against the nearest wall.  
"Why. Are. People. So. Stupid?" He growled, accenting each word with a whack. Both soldiers turned to look at him with worried expressions. "He's Moriarty's sniper!" The detective cried. John blinked, stumped. He turned to Moran who couldn't quite meet his gaze.  
"Your new boss is a crazed psychopath." The doctor asked. The sniper coughed again.  
"Well I wouldn't call him that…" His voice trailed off. John's mind suddenly processed what had been said before and clicked.  
"You're getting out of your bosses hair because he's _happy_?" He queried. Moran was about to answer when a high pitch giggle echoed from the street below. The three men rushed to the window and pushed the pane of glass open to lean out; John on the bottom, Moran leaning over him and Sherlock looming over the other two.

The shrill giggle radiated from a small man in a pressed suit, holding a bouquet of roses similar to the ones Sherlock had just received. He leaned against a lamppost with a contented sigh as he gazed longingly into the velvety petals.  
"I used to sit alone doing evil all day." He sang. John looked up to give Moran a glance. The sniper pretended not to notice.  
"But now I think there's someone gonna get on my way, yeah," The criminal pushed himself off the post, grabbing the metal to swing round it. "There's someone in my life that doesn't want me to exist." The sniper gulped.  
"Please no." He begged quietly. John tried to hide the giggle and failed miserably. "Shut up." Moran snapped, which only made the doctor laugh more.

Back on the ground, the consulting criminal was now in the middle of the road, twirling over the tarmac.  
"My neme, neme, ooooh... my neme, neme, neme." He did a little tap routine as he span round. "And I feel fine cause I've got a nemesis." He continued, followed by another short tap dance. "My neme, neme, ooooh... my neme, neme, neme." Jim Moriarty twirled around once more then looked up at the window to see the three men staring down at him. He smiled.

"Shit." John stated. "He's seen us." Sherlock sighed.  
"Well he was bound to, we are practically hanging out of the window. He can't do much anyway, we have his sniper." The detective answered. Moran blinked, realising that he was indeed trapped between the two men. He thought about trying to escape but was soon sidetracked by his boss's terrible high pitched singing.

"And I hate him, and he hates me," Jim purred, looking up to Sherlock. "What a wonderful animosities." The detective's face remained completely blank. That pet of his stared in disbelief. Best of all, Sebby looked in total horror, like a kid who's mum came to pick him up from school in a hideous outfit. Turning his attention back to his rival, he sniffed the roses.  
"Besides his hat he wears no clothes," Sherlock blushed, finally, a reaction. John sniggered.  
"He has a point." The doctor hummed. The detective kicked forward, slamming into the snipers calf who in turn rammed his foot into John's leg.  
"Ow!" Both soldiers' complained in unison. A sharp cracking sound made all three look up to see a rose stem sticking through the windowpane  
"Now I have someone to opose..." Jim finished, prancing back down the street.

* * *

After a long cup of tea, with gracious amounts of whiskey added, Moran finally had the confidence to speak.  
"I will never be able to show my face anywhere ever again." He groaned. John chuckled.  
"Nope." He replied.  
"My life is over." Moran wallowed.  
"Pretty much." The doctor replied, turning the page of his newspaper.  
"Are you even listening to me?" The sniper yelled indignantly. John lowered his paper.  
"I live with a man who has a strop if I move his microscope a millimetre to the left, I have had to pay to fix the walls more times than the pipes, I have had to force feed him while pinning him to the ground." John gave his old friend his best 'I don't give a damn' expression. "So if you think for one second that you are going to get any sympathy from me then you can think again." Moran thought for a second.  
"Okay." He conceded. "I think we may just be in the same boat." John grinned.  
"Have fun with your crazy boss." He chuckled.  
"Have fun with your crazy flatmate." Moran shot back. Sherlock appeared in the doorway.  
"I am not crazy." He harrumphed, arms folded across his chest. The sniper coughed and took his leave.

John watched him exit then turned to his flatmate.  
"Sherlock." He called questioningly, his hands resting on his hips.  
"Yes John?" Came the detective's innocent reply.  
"Put some clothes on."


End file.
